


Inevitable Withdrawal

by gleefulfan



Series: The Gallavich Interlude [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Homophobic Language, M/M, POV Mickey, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulfan/pseuds/gleefulfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picks up immediately after the season finale and follows Mickey as he struggles to deal with the breakup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable Withdrawal

**Author's Note:**

> When Mickey returns sometime in Season 6, it will be months after Ian broke his heart. I wanted to explore how Mickey would deal with and eventually recover from the heartbreak and how his time with Ian changed him, things we're unfortunately probably never going to see explored on the show. 
> 
> I'm planning on writing a companion piece from Ian's POV along the same timeline and possibly explore some other ideas within this 'verse. Questions/comments/thoughts can find me at [gleefulfan.tumblr.com](gleefulfan.tumblr.com)

Ever since Sammi had come around the corner with that gun, Mickey had been on autopilot. Don’t get shot. Flip Sammi off while she gets driven away by the police. Talk to the police without looking guilty of anything. Walk home.

Opening his front door shook Mickey out of the daze he had been in and made everything that had just happened seem real again. Ian was never going to step foot in this house again. He was never going to make a stupid joke and smirk dumbly at Mickey. He was never going pull Mickey close to him in bed when he was cold. 

Mickey almost fell down from the sheer emotion that he felt threatening to pour out of him. He had to brace himself against the wall and just focus on breathing until he could stand again.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d fucked it up somehow, that’s what always happened. He had royally screwed up last year at his wedding and Ian had left, it was only a matter of time before he did it again. Mickey had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t fuck it up again, that he’d do everything he could to be good enough to keep Ian but somehow he had failed again.

Mickey went into the kitchen and found a half-full bottle of whiskey, drinking as much as he could of it before his throat started to burn in agony. He took the bottle into his room, hoping the alcohol would take him to blissful unconsciousness as quickly as possible.

* * *

Three days passed in a drunken blur. He wasn’t really sure how he didn’t die from alcohol poisoning but apparently life wasn’t done shitting on him quite yet. He’d run out of liquor the night before so when he woke up on the fourth day he was semi-sober for the first time since it happened

The grief was still there, threatening to overwhelm him at any moment. But a new emotion had surpassed everything else: rage. He’d heard somewhere that there were five stages of grief or something, and he wasn’t sure what they were but this was clearly one of them.

Mickey had done everything, EVERYTHING that Ian could have wanted or needed. He fucking came out for Ian, he took care of Ian when he couldn’t get out of bed, he protected Ian from Svetlana and the cops, he learned about Ian’s stupid fucking disease to try and help, he made nice with 1,000 fucking Gallaghers for Ian.

And what had that gotten him? Dumped, because he didn’t wanted Ian to end up in a nuthouse? He’d practically had the words ‘Ian’s bitch’ tattooed on his forehead. All the Gallaghers were probably having a big laugh about him right this minute.

Well no more. Mickey Milkovich was not going to be anyone’s bitch ever again. The first thing to go was the stupid, embarrassing picture of Ian that he’d kept. He pulled it off the wall, grabbed his lighter and watched it go up in flames. It was the first spark of a good feeling he’d felt in days.

The picture gave him an idea. He and Fiona had moved most of Ian’s stuff back to the Gallagher house when Ian was in the hospital but Mickey had kept a handful of clothes and other random things. He scavenged the house for every item of Ian’s, everything that reminded Mickey of that asshole and tossed it in a pile in the backyard. A few pours of lighter fluid later, up in smoke it all went. The red-orange flames seemed all too appropriate.

* * *

The rage was more bearable than the sadness. The sadness wanted to swallow him whole, wanted him to drink until the blackness took him, maybe forever. The rage wanted him to punch something, and that he could do.

Mickey lost count of how many fights he got into over the next couple weeks. Anyone he thought would be willing to fight him was fair game, but red heads were at particular risk.

He somehow escaped without any real lasting damage. A broken rib was what finally put him out of commission. But he didn’t mind too much; the rage had gotten Mickey through the worst of it and he no longer felt like never waking up again each night he went to sleep. He didn’t have a fucking clue what he was going to do with the rest of his miserable life but somehow that still counted as improvement.

While his rib healed, he took to playing every video game he owned to fill up his days. He was going to need to find new work or a new scam soon, but Iggy had just paid him back some money he’d owed Mickey, so he still had a couple weeks if need be.

Someone knocked on the Milkovich door in the middle of Mickey’s second play-through of Final Fantasy XII. He wondered who it could be - Iggy had a key and no one else had been to the house in weeks. It had better not be a fucking Gallagher or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

Luckily it was only Gallagher-adjacent, which was bearable. “Hey Mickey,” Kev said a little uncertainly once Mickey had opened the door. “How’s it going, man?”

“Just fucking awesome, _man_ ,” Mickey replied. He walked away from the door and into the kitchen, which Kev took as as much of an invitation as he was going to get. Mickey pulled a beer out of the fridge and took a big gulp before turning back. “So what the fuck do you want?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing, I heard about what happened and, you know, I’ve been there, just recently, I know how it feels.” Words had never been Kev’s strong suit.

“We’re not friends Kev so cut the pity party, we were business partners for like a few months at best. And I’m fine, I’m great. I was hooking up with a fucking nut job, don’t know what I was thinking. I’m lucky it’s over.” Mickey finished off his beer and tossed it in the trash.

Kev didn’t seem convinced by Mickey’s words. “You’re upset, I get it. I’m just saying if you want to go get drunk or something, call me or come by the Alibi or something. I’m around.”

It stuck Mickey that this all seemed like a very un-Kev-like thing to do. Sure they had been on good enough terms but Kev had never even been to his house before today. “Did someone put you up to this? Go check on poor dumped Mickey Milkovich, is that it?”

“No! I just well . . .” Kev had never been a good liar either. “Fiona may have mentioned it, but I meant what I said, I know how you feel and I’m around, that’s it,” he said, hands raised.

“Well tell that bitch I don’t need anyone’s fucking pity and she should save it for her fucked up family,” Mickey said as he walked back to the front door and opened it. “Now get the fuck out of my house.” Kev left without another word.

* * *

It was almost a month after the breakup that Mickey finally had had enough of his own house. Other than beer, food and fights he had holed up in here for almost the entire time and it was time he did something, anything with his time.

He met up with some of his old contacts and acquaintances, trying to find out if there were any jobs or scams going down he could jump in on. He ended up with a few leads but nothing concrete and figured that was enough for a first day’s work back in the real world.

Mickey headed home, carefully avoiding the Gallagher house, the Alibi Room, and anywhere else he thought one of them might be. The real world was one thing but the last thing he wanted to run into was one of those fucking siblings.

So of course, after successfully navigating the neighborhood and getting home, Mickey found a crying Debbie Gallagher on his porch.

He thought leaving and coming back later, or just walking right past her and slamming the door in her face. If it had been any other Gallagher he wouldn’t have had a problem doing that. But it just had to be fucking Debbie, didn’t it.

“What are you doing here, Debs?” Mickey asked, trying not to sound either angry or sympathetic. “What happened? Is everyone ok, is anyone like hurt or something?” Suddenly horrifying images were racing through Mickey’s mind and as much as he wanted not to care, his racing pulse was proof of how much he still did.

“He dumped me!” Debbie cried, throwing herself into Mickey’s arms. Mickey couldn’t help but feel bad for Debs while also being relieved it wasn’t anything more serious. He managed to maneuver them so they could sit on the front porch steps. 

“Ok, okay kid, just calm down and tell me what happened.” Mickey eventually got Debbie to stop crying long enough to get most of the story out of her. Apparently Debbie had gotten pregnant ( _Jesus Christ_ ) and she thought the dude’s family would basically adopt her because they’d done something similar to another brother’s girlfriend. But he’d wanted her to get an abortion, which she did ( _thank fuck_ ) and now he’d dumped her.

“He told me he loved me,” Debbie said, tears starting up again. “How could he do this to me?”

Well that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “He’s an asshole Debs, you’ll find someone better.” Mickey wasn’t really sure what else to say, he certainly didn’t have any answers in this department. “Do you want me to go kick his ass or something?”

That at least got a giggle out of her. “No, and he’s like an MMA fighter anyways, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. But thanks for offering.”

“So then I got to ask, why me? Wouldn’t Fiona or Vee be better suited for this kind of thing?”

“I basically screamed at them for months that everything was going to work out great. I can’t face them now, admitting that he broke up with me. It’s so embarrassing.”

Mickey sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, they’re gonna find out sooner or later. And you know Fiona, just turn on the waterworks like you did here and she’ll crack in no time.”

“Thanks, I guess I should go face the music,” Debbie said, giving him a hug Mickey half-heartedly returned. She got up to go but turned back before getting out of the yard. “He’s doing a lot better, you know, better than Monica ever did.”

“Don’t.” Mickey couldn’t manage to get out more than that one word. The last thing he wanted to hear was how dumping Mickey had magically turned Ian’s life around.

“I asked him, why, and he said he had to figure himself out, figure out how to live with this before he could live with someone else.”

“Go home, Debs.” Mickey got up and went inside, slamming the door before she could say anything else. 

* * *

Later that night, Mickey went and kicked Derek’s ass anyway. MMA fighter or not, no 15 year old was prepared to deal with a Milkovich motivated by righteous fury.

* * *

Mickey had gone back to the park another couple times, but it was a pretty shitty way to get off, even by his standards. Eventually he convinced himself that going to a gay bar might not be the worst idea. He sure as hell wasn’t going to the one Ian used to work at though, not that they’d let him in at this point anyway.

There was another place he’d heard about that wasn’t in Boystown, but on the South Side, and wasn’t supposed to be as queeny as your typical gay bar. He’d walked by it a couple times back when Ian had disappeared to the army, but never actually gone in.

So he found himself across the street from it, pacing back and forth, trying to convince himself to go in. That he was even considering this was yet another thing he could blame Ian for. Before Ian, Mickey was thrilled with a quick isolated fuck, the less words exchanged the better. Now Mickey couldn’t help but want the guy fucking him to know his name and care about what he liked and all that girly shit.

Mickey wanted to scream in frustration at the whole situation but instead he walked over, showed the guy his (fake) I.D., and headed inside.

* * *

The place wasn’t actually too bad, at least so far. It reminded him of the Alibi Room more than anything, except slightly nicer and no chicks. And it was surprisingly crowded, though Mickey had managed to find a seat at the very end of the bar.

The beer was good and helped Mickey relax slightly. At least he was getting alcohol out of this dumb experiment. He glanced around the bar while trying to avoid eye contact with anyone and no one really stood out to him (i.e. no one looked like Ian).

He had almost finished his beer and was getting ready to bail when someone came up to him and got his attention. He was kind of on the old side (not Ned old but older) but not ugly.

“So are you new to the area?” The guy asked. “My friends and I come here pretty regularly, but we didn’t think we’d seen you before. I’m Paul, by the way.”

“Mickey. New to this place, but not the area.” Mickey said. “Born and raised.” Mickey was fighting against both his fight and flight responses at the moment, so he figured short answers to direct questions were his best bet at the moment.

“That’s cool, me too. Yeah I really like it here, much more low-key and relaxed than some of those other places.”

“Yeah, it seems more like a regular bar, except you know, no chicks around.”

That got a chuckle out of Paul. “Yeah we don’t get too many chicks in here. Do you mind if I ask, are you recently out? I don’t mean to pry but you seem a bit new to this world.”

Mickey wasn’t really sure how to answer that. “Uh, not really. More like newly single I guess.” He probably shouldn’t have said that, the last thing he wanted to do was talk about, or even think about Ian.

“Young love, of course, we’ve all been there Mickey. I’m sure it’s been tough but sometimes it’s just not meant to be. It’s good your getting back out there though.”

“It wasn’t just that, he got sick. Not like cancer sick, in the head sick.” What was he doing, why couldn’t shut the fuck up about this?

“Oh, I’m sorry Mickey.” Paul seemed at a loss for words for the first time since he’d come over.

“Everything was great, and then he just started acting all crazy, like a whole different person. And then we got him help, got things fixed, but the medication made him like a whole other third person and he hated them. But he stole my kid, what was I supposed to do, just not care about his medication, not care if he beat his sister’s head in with a baseball bat. How am I a bad guy for wanting to fucking fix what was wrong, just like every other person who cared about him? Why am I the only one who got sent away?”

Paul was just staring at him at this point and Mickey realized how fucking crazy he must have sounded. He pushed past Paul and rushed out of the club.

* * *

He stopped for a second outside the front door to catch his breath. Why had he said all those things? Why did he still care almost three months later? Apparently he was even more fucked up than he thought.

Just as he was walking away from the bar, Mickey heard a commotion coming from the back alley. He thought about just ignoring it but curiosity got the better of him and he figured he might get the opportunity to punch someone, which he sorely needed at the moment.

He found two decent-sized guy standing over someone who had pretty clearly just taken a stomach punch. Mickey wasn’t one to make assumptions but he was pretty sure the victim was from the club and the other guys weren’t.

“What’s going on here fellas?” Mickey called out, walking over to the scene slowly, eyeing up the two guys he was probably about to fight. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

“None of your business man, just teaching this fag a lesson.” The guy speaking looked over at him, probably underestimating Mickey because of his height – a common mistake rarely repeated. “Get out of here or we’ll teach you one too.”

“You know school just wasn’t my thing,” Mickey said as he launched himself at the one who’d been yapping back at him.

In a disappointingly short amount of time Mickey had them running out of the alley in terror. They clearly hadn’t been looking for an actual fight and Mickey didn’t think they were really South Side. He held out a hand out to the guy to pull him up to his feet.

“You gotta be more careful out here, this ain’t Boystown.”

“Trust me, I know. Thanks for the help, I didn’t think anyone inside could hear and I knew no one else around here was going help. I’m Jeremy.”

“Mickey. And I was actually just leaving anyways so . . .” Mickey didn’t really want to turn this into a conversation so he just sort of trailed off and started walking away.

“Hey, wait a minute!” The guy called out. Mickey stopped and rolled his eyes before turning back around. He should have just let this guy get his ass kicked.

“I actually work here as a bartender, the reason that happened was because our bouncer-slash-security guy quit last week. He always took care of problems like that before they started.”

“Ok?” Mickey said, not understanding why Jeremy was telling him this. “You should probably get a new one then.”

“Well the boss likes to hire within the LGBT community and there actually aren’t that many gay guys willing to jump into a fight at the drop of a hat around here. Like you said, this isn’t Boystown. If you’re interested I could put in a good word for you.”

Mickey wasn’t sure how to respond. “You want me to walk around the club and watch out for queer-bashers and kick their ass when they come around?”

“And check IDs and toss unruly guys out of the bar. That’s pretty much it.”

Mickey considered the offer. There weren’t really any reasons not to do it. He hadn’t had a steady source of income since the moving truck gig went south and it sounded like easy enough work. Part of him was resistant to the idea of working at a gay bar but a bigger part of him was intrigued by it. “Sure, why not. I could use the money.”

Jeremy smiled. “Awesome, why don’t you come back tomorrow around six, before we open. The boss will be here and he can talk to you then. And thanks again for saving my ass.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Mickey turned to leave, wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into.

* * *

The owner was gruff and not interested in small talk, other than to complain to Mickey about the guy who had quit last week. He reminded Mickey of Linda more than anyone, except that Mickey kind of liked him.

The next day Mickey pulled out the calendar that Mandy had gotten them at the beginning of the year, to see if there were any upcoming nights off he needed to ask for before he started. That’s when he noticed what had been marked for the upcoming Tuesday. Ian had written it in himself in colorful green pen, the words “My 18th Birthday!!” with zig-zags circling the words and the date.

Mickey burned the calendar. What would he need days off for anyway.

* * * 

The job was pretty sweet all things considered. The bar was mostly frequented by a slightly older crowd and the rest of the staff had been pretty chill towards him. They were friendly without trying to find out his life story, which is exactly how he liked it. He got to beat on the occasional asshole, which was the highlight of his week but otherwise spent most of his time at the front checking IDs.

It was kind of weirdly fulfilling for Mickey, which surprised him more than anyone. He started to feel protective of the club and its patrons, though most of the guys there could take care of themselves. Mickey had never really had an honest, legal job and had never spent this much around other gay people. Other than the gaping hole in his heart that he’d barely managed to paper over, things were actually going weirdly well.

He should have known better than for it to last. It had been a busy evening (Fridays were 18 and up which always drew a crowd) and the bar was in the middle of its biggest rush of the night, so Mickey was barely paying attention to who was in line. When he put his flashlight over the I.D. he’d just taken, the last name he’d expected to see was “Phillip Gallagher.”

“Nice try buddy but I know this guy . . .” Mickey said as he handed the card back and looked up, forgetting what he was going to say as he realized it actually was Lip standing in front of him.

Lip gave him one of those patented smirks that had always made Mickey want to punch his lights out “Hey Mickey, long time no see. You work here?”

“Obviously. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Of course the answer was obvious once Mickey took a second to think about it. Lip stepped wordlessly to the side to reveal Ian, dressed to go out and holding his I.D., looking as shocked as Mickey felt.

“Hey Mickey,” Ian said softly. Mickey was not prepared for this. He’d thought about seeing Ian again, of course, and had a million things he wanted to say or do, but they all abandoned him in this moment.

“Um, to answer your question, it’s a belated birthday outing,” Ian said to fill the silence. “Lip insisted, you know.”

A cough from behind Ian in line shook Mickey from his daze. He grabbed Ian’s I.D. and barely glanced at it before handing it back. “Go on in. Next!”

Ian didn’t really move but the guy behind shoved past anyway to hand Mickey his license. “Hey could we talk for a minute, later, on your break or something?”

“I’m working, busy night,” Mickey said, refusing to look back at Ian. After a moment Ian gave up and went inside with Lip.

* * *

Mickey tried to think of nothing except what was in front of him. Check I.D. Next. Check I.D. Next. He didn’t bother taking his break or doing his usual walk around the bar, hoping he could stay outside for the rest of the night.

When one of the wait staff yelled out his name about a half an hour later, Mickey knew he wouldn’t be able to achieve that goal. He ran in to find somebody new beating on (again of all people) Lip Gallagher. Mickey broke the fight up pretty easily and shoved both of the guys out the back. He could feel Ian following behind them without even needing to look.

“You,” Mickey said, pointing at the new guy, “Get the fuck out of here, this happens again you’re banned permanently.” He turned to Lip, “You what the fuck, are you on something?”

Lip ignored his question. “Jesus, that guy hit hard,” he said, holding his head up to try and stop his nose from bleeding. “Is there a term for getting your ass kicked by a gay guy?”

Mickey seriously considered just finishing the job on Lip. “I don’t know, karma? What the fuck did you do?”

“I was being a good brother in the most painful way possible,” Lip replied. “I will be over there when you guys are done,” he said, pointing at the opening of the alley.

Mickey turned to look at Ian. “This was just so we could talk?”

“Not my idea, I swear,” Ian said, looking sheepish. “But yeah Lip decided it was the only way to get you to come out here.”

Mickey knew he should have just killed Lip at some point along the way, would have saved the whole neighborhood a lot of trouble. “Fine,” he gritted out. “Two minutes, what do you want?”

“Well,” Ian said, scratching the back of his head nervously. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I mean this job, it seems kind of cool.”

“I’m fine, I’m fucking great, job’s great, everything’s great. We done?” Mickey could not think of anything he would less want to do than exchange stilted pleasantries with Ian.

“I just-, I wanted to say I’m sorry, for how things ended, for what I said when we talked.”

“You mean when you dumped me,” Mickey corrected before he could stop himself. Why the fuck would he say that?

“Yeah. I’m not saying I regret doing it, but it was because of shit that I was going through, that I had to go through on my own. I don’t even really remember what I said but I’m sure it hardly made sense. You were great and did like everything you possibly could, and I just couldn’t be your boyfriend, I couldn’t handle it, so yeah, that’s it I guess.”

Mickey had no idea how to respond to what Ian had said. Part of him was glad to hear Ian say it wasn’t Mickey’s fault, since that part of him had never gotten past that very first emotion that had told him he had failed a second time. But hearing Ian talk about it also reopened the wound that he had just barely closed in the first place and he couldn’t go back there.

“Well, ok. It is what it is.” He didn’t really know what else to say.

“Thanks for listening. I guess I’ll go.” Ian headed towards where Lip was waiting.

“Hey Ian!” Mickey called out after him spontaneously. Ian turned around to look back at him. “Happy birthday asshole!”

Ian grinned and flipped him off. Mickey went back inside and tried not to feel like anything of significance had happened.


End file.
